


The Gift That Keeps On Giving

by StygianSea



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Christmas, Dorian decorates John's house, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slash if you squint, and John gives Dorian a present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 02:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StygianSea/pseuds/StygianSea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian asks John about the meaning of Christmas, and John gives him a present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift That Keeps On Giving

**Author's Note:**

> My family is up baking cookies and tomorrow's dinner and watching Christmas movies, and I had this fic cross my mind while wrapping presents so I've been up all night writing it :D guess i can't refrain from contributing to the holiday spirit! lol hope you enjoy it :) Merry Christmas everyone!! <3

Dorian sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the Christmas tree, listening to the melodies emanating from the small box on the floor. It was programmed to play Christmas carols, and was wired to the lights so that they would blink in time with the music. Dorian had memorized all the songs in order; he would hum the starting notes of the coming tune in the soft pause between one song and the next.

The tree is small; only four feet in height, but at least it is there. He had had a time trying to get John to agree to let him put any decorations up in the apartment. The man was practically impossible when it came to holidays. But Dorian could be just as stubborn, and after a week or two of endless prodding John finally relented and let him put a few things up around the apartment: a small tree, two stockings on the far wall, and a sprig of mistletoe near the kitchen.

He hadn’t told John about the mistletoe; he waited one night until John came out of the shower, wrapped in a towel and still dripping, and he’d stood there expectantly, lips quirked up and eyes twinkling with mischief. John’s eyes had widened and he’d stopped in his tracks, eyes darting up to take stock of the situation. Dorian had half-expected a shove and some choice words; what he most certainly did _not_ expect was the look of resolve and utter defiance that came over John’s face as he marched straight up and placed wet lips squarely on Dorian’s cheek. Then it was _Dorian’s_ eyes that had flown wide in surprise, watching as John smirked and walked off – though he didn’t miss the slight flush on the other man’s cheeks.

Now, on Christmas Eve, he sat admiring his work: the red and white bulbs nestled on the green leaves, the striped ribbon that curled through the branches, the shining star that sat atop the tree. And the blinking lights. He felt a small smile cross his face as he watched them. He heard John’s soft padded footsteps coming in from the kitchen, heard him sink down into the sofa behind him. Dorian didn’t turn, still watching the steady stream of red, green, blue, and orange, flashing in time with every song.

“What’s the meaning of Christmas, John?”

John’s voice was low and irate behind him. “Haven’t I indulged enough of your childish curiosity for one year?”

Dorian smiled slightly, one lip quirking up. “Traditionally Christmas is the celebration of the birth of the Christ Child. Which is quite strange, considering most religious scholars peg the date of the birth of Christ as sometime in the spring, making it odd that people should celebrate it in the winter.” John groaned behind him, and Dorian heard him take a sip of something that was probably alcoholic. He continued anyway. “From the information I’ve gathered it seems to be a lot less about the figure of Jesus Christ and more about the solidarity between loved ones. I suppose that it has been helped along by commercialization. A recent poll shows 86% of Americans plan to splurge on gifts for family and friends this holiday season.”

John was quiet behind him, and Dorian turned to see him staring listlessly at his glass, swilling a dark liquid around in loose fingers. Dorian supposed he might have gotten a bit too technical again, so he moved around until he was facing John.

“What do you think, John?”

John looked up, bleary eyes meeting his. “Oh, um…” He looked back at his drink, raised it to his lips and downed it in one gulp. “I dunno, I guess it’s about loved ones… You buy people presents because it shows that you’re thinking of them. That they’re important, someone special to you. Lots of people spend money they don’t have, I know, but they do it for good reasons. It’s the one time of year we get to drop everything and be together. Not having to worry about all the other shit going on in our lives, even if it’s just for a little while. And you…” John sighed and set his empty glass down on the floor. “You get a chance to be reminded about what’s important in life.” He sat back up slowly, sinking into the cushions behind him, hand idly massaging the place where his thigh connected to the synthetic leg. Dorian performed a quick scan and determined it would need re-calibration soon. He was about to say something, but John interrupted him, continuing to speak. He could be chatty when drunk, sometimes.

“You spend weeks agonizing over the perfect gift,” he said, staring straight ahead, like he was watching some distant memory, “or you damn it all to hell and get that really expensive thing that they’re probably only going to use once, because you know they’ll like it. And you’ll go to great lengths to keep it a secret, and you’ll stay up at all hours of the night painstakingly wrapping, because you want to make them happy. Because, in the end, that’s all you’ve got, isn’t it? People who love you.” He raised his head, locking eyes with Dorian, just for a second, before looking away towards the small tree, glowing softly in the dim light. “And come the new year when your credit’s gone to shit and you’re thousands of dollars in the hole, well… you think it might’ve been worth it.”

Dorian stared at him for a second, then turned his gaze to the bright red stockings hanging on the far wall, processing what John had said. He was constantly surprised about the depth that could pervade so many human activities, even those so seemingly trivial as decorating fake trees and giving each other expensive gifts. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice John moving around behind him (which sounds strange, but all his processes were centered on _thinking_ and not so much on monitoring the external environment), and didn’t look up until John said “here” and Dorian turned to see John standing next to him, arm outstretched, a small, gift-wrapped object in his hand.

Dorian blinked once, then again, looking up into John’s eyes. “What’s this?”

“The hell does it look like?” John grumbled, face screwed up into that flustered expression he sometimes got when Dorian made him explain the obvious. “It’s a fucking present, god damnit, just take it already, will you?”

Dorian reached out, taking the gift in still hands, bringing it down to his lap. It was small and rectangular, wrapped in teal paper decked with white snowflakes and red ornaments hanging from untethered strings. The paper was ripped in places, patched up haphazardly with clear tape, a bright silver bow covering the worst of the damage. Dorian felt a smile tugging at his lip, something settling warm and deep in his stomach at the thought that John would take the time to do this himself, when he could just as easily have had it done professionally. He stared fondly at the mess of a gift until a small frown creased his brow and he looked up at John, already sitting back on the sofa.

“But it isn’t Christmas yet.”

John rolled his eyes and said, “So?” When Dorian didn’t move he sighed in exasperation. “For fuck’s sake, Dorian, when I was little my mom used to let me open one present on Christmas Eve, okay? Seriously, it’s alright, just open the damn…” John’s voice trailed off as he stood again and went towards the kitchen, presumably for another shot of something with at least 40% alcohol.

Dorian looked back down at the package. He couldn’t really say it would be a shame to ruin the beautiful paper as it was already a mess, so he slid a finger underneath an open spot and tore the wrapping paper away. A small book fell into his lap, a pocket-sized paperback, and he picked it up, running his hand over the cover image of a half-human, half-android face.

“ _Bicentennial Man_ ,” he whispered softly, staring at the book. A quick flare of blue lights told him it was the latest in a string of adaptations, this one based off of the late twentieth century film. He opened the front cover and saw a small inscription on the first page. Peering down at it, he read: _Thought this might come in handy someday. Merry Christmas. Love, John._

Dorian passed his eyes over the handwriting, blue lights sparking again on his temples, examining the handwriting. _Love_ was written differently – as if the pen had been pressed harder into the paper, as if John had hesitated for just a moment – but he didn’t say anything.

“I thought you might find it useful,” he heard John say, and looked up to see him sitting again, another glass of dark liquid in his hand. “You know, when you… if you ever, uh…” His face was going red again, and it could’ve been from the alcohol but Dorian knew better. “I mean, I know you’ve probably read it like a million times already, but I thought—”

“It’s wonderful, John,” Dorian interrupted.

John looked at him for a moment, eyes uncertain. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dorian said, a smile lighting up his face. “Thank you.”

He saw something flash in John’s eyes – something close to satisfaction, but not quite – and a small smile edged its way onto John’s face as well. “Yeah, well… good.”

Dorian looked back down, flipping the pages of the book, thinking about what John had said about Christmas, and presents. _You buy people presents because it shows that you’re thinking of them. That they’re important, someone special to you._

“Merry Christmas, Dorian,” he hears, soft over the sound of the Christmas melodies filling the air.

He looked up, watching John’s eyes as they gazed at the lights that flickered before them.

“Merry Christmas, John.”

**Author's Note:**

> Gah! All of my stories start with the letter T D: I'm trying to be original with my titles but I just CAN'T
> 
> Also, this story has nothing to do with STDs. Apparently that is another "gift" that "keeps on giving" ಠ_ಠ
> 
> My [tumblr](http://stygiansea.tumblr.com), come say hi! ^^


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